


aurora borealis

by detectivemeer



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/F, POV Second Person, Unhealthy Relationships, canon character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-18 13:52:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3572048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/detectivemeer/pseuds/detectivemeer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Petal, pluck. Petal, pluck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	aurora borealis

1.

 

You love her.

 

2.

 

You love her not.

 

3.

 

You wake up with scratches down your back, an ache in your shoulder. You lean over to kiss Kali's neck, taste the salt of her sweat (werewolves are warm and you're always cold; she complains about heating up when pressed against you while she sleeps but does it anyway).

 

"Good morning," you say, grinning.

 

She groans, dropping an arm over her head. "You cannot possibly know that yet."

 

4.

 

She says there's a darkness in you, that she likes it. She likes knowing how far you're willing to go to protect the pack. Likes the scent of devotion on your skin, likes knowing you belong.

 

"Fuck," you pant, Kali's hands curled tight around your hips. "That's not really a compliment."

 

"It is," she says. She sucks a bruise on your ribs, just beneath your breast, growls. The sound rumbles across your skin, making you shiver. "You're powerful." She pulls back to shoot you a smirk, lopsided and charming and ridiculous. "It's hot."

 

5.

 

You're young, dumb and you want to live in the space between her breaths, so when she says, "Do you ever think about... just _running_?" You don't know exactly what she means, but you know in an instant you'd let her take you anywhere.

 

Still, you put up a token protest, "The pack is here. We could never leave them."

 

"Don't give me that bullshit." She props her head up with her hand, elbow bent in the dirt. "I know you can feel it too. You crave power just as much as I do." Cicadas hum, distantly. The night above you is vast, black, glimmering with stars. It's an intimate moment, despite the openness of the woods, trees unfolded around you like the endless stars.

 

"You'd make a great alpha," you say neutrally. She stares at you, unblinking. You don't look away (you can't name this thing between you, but it's magnetic--you couldn't look away if you wanted to). There's magic in you, beating and trapped under your tongue. You can feel the whole world thrumming with it, plucking at your pulse. You want it. All of it.

 

You want to say this to Kali, but she knows. She's always known.

 

6.

 

You remember, most of all, the pain. You remember the sheer agony of your flesh, raw and red and ripped apart. Lying there in the dirt, dragging yourself inch by painful inch across the ground. Eyes blurred with tears, your own blood choking you, gasping coppery breaths over your ruined throat. Your fingers found the rough hold of the Nemeton and you remember thinking, _please_.

 

 _Please_ and _God_  and _help me please please oh god I don’t want to die_. You gurgled pitiably, begged for life against the thrumming bark and everything was a haze of pain and fear and exhaustion as you pulled every last fire that burned inside of you, poured all your magic into one desperate plea.

 

7. 

 

She’s pushed up on her tippy toes, reaching for a bowl on the top shelf, soft morning light glowing against her skin and shirt.

 

“Stop fucking laughing and help me!”

 

You smother your grin with your hands and walk over, sliding your arms around her, dropping a kiss to her shoulder. “And why would I do that when I’ve got such a great view?”

 

8.

 

  
You don’t die. You reform, reshape, you are _reborn_  into something sharper and bigger and more powerful than before. Your magic is no longer wild and burning, it exists in your every heartbeat and breath. It controls you as much as you control it until you cannot see the lines separating you from the power beneath your feet, under your skin, and humming in the core of your savior.

 

You never believed in God, not until you were dying and desperate, and now you only believe in yourself and in roots soaked with magic. They gave you a second chance and it was purposeful. You have revenge sitting like a stone in your gut and magic licking at your palms like a dog, waiting for your command to rip someone’s throat out.

 

And oh, you will sever its leash and you will ruin them all for what they’ve done to you. You’ve risen from the dead, not burning and golden like a phoenix, but with scars in your skin and hate on your tongue. You’ll drag every last one of them down to the rich earth that healed you and watch them choke on it.

 

9.

 

  
"You killed me. You left me to die. You fucking left me in the dirt to die." Kali's mouth is sour with blood. You kiss her anyway, full on the mouth and shaking with fury. "I'd have fucking _helped_ you. If you asked. Do you get that?"

 

Kali spits blood in your face, seizing the distraction to get her hand around your neck, the pin-prick of her claws pressing at the tender flesh of your throat by the time you finish flinching.

 

"I've never needed your help." It’s sick, it’s so sick, but looking at her, there, eyes red as the blood on her lips, danger and anger in every line of her face: a single thought swells inside you, rising up, up, up to the back of your throat, perilously close to forming on your tongue. _I love you, I love you, I love you._

 

You kiss her again and this time, she kisses back. Fangs, full on the mouth, sour with blood. Your heartbeat is a rapid _rat-a-tat-tat_. One of her hands is wrapped around your neck, the other curled in the space between your shoulder blades. She’s heat, breath, blood. Claws so close to your carotid, sharp teeth dragging on your lips.

 

You rear back and slam your forehead into her nose. You skitter back and now the distance has you on equal footing.

 

She groans, glares, and resets her nose. She shakes out her limbs, slowly. The air crackles; her eyes dart to your hands.

 

“I’ll be seeing you,” she says. She turns and takes a running leap out the window for her escape.

 

 _Drama queen,_  you think, fond and aching and hateful.

 

10.

 

You are not Jennifer, and you’re not Julia, and the Darach is just another mask. You don’t recognize yourself in the mirror and you can’t fit your mouth around any one name in a way that feels right, not like you used to.

 

11.

 

Here’s what makes laughter snap inside you, bubbling hysterically at the back of your throat; this is the punchline: you could forgive her.

 

You could say, "I'm sorry I hate you. I'm sorry. I miss you."

 

If she could say it back. If she'd say it first.

 

You would bend for her. You always have. You'd do it again if she'd just ask you to.

 

If she would just apologize. For turning away, for her claws in your skin, for the betrayal, fuck, for nothing at all. Just lie to me, you want to beg. Just tell me you're sorry because I'm not strong enough to be the one to forgive first.

 

12.

 

You have both always been much too stubborn for your own good.

 

13.

 

She loves you.

 

14.

 

She loves you not.


End file.
